


Golden bands

by AuntRose



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:19:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntRose/pseuds/AuntRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started because on monday night, Brian Kinney was dancing half naked in Babylon with a ring on his finger.</p>
<p>Or, the one when Justin has been in New York for a year and he and Brian may or may not be married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden bands

**Author's Note:**

> We keep hoping and petitioning for a QAF reunion but I'm slowly losing faith it's ever going to happen.
> 
> So here it goes, that's one way I think it could have gone.
> 
> Enjoy!

It all started because on monday night, Brian Kinney was dancing half naked in Babylon with a ring on his finger.

Not that Brian Kinney dancing half naked in Babylon on a monday night was anything unusual; he owned the club for Christ’s sake, it was his kingdom, had been since he was seventeen and buying fake IDs to get in. Let the king rejoice.

The problem was that the lights made the ring on his left hand sparkle every few seconds when they hit it at the right angle (of course the asshole danced with his arms up, everybody look at my toned abs and perfectly shaped biceps, they’re strong enough to hold you up against the wall when I’ll fuck you!). But it looked way too much like a wedding ring to belong to him. Right?

“I thought his twink left him for New York,” Stan yelled over to music to his group of friends.

Everybody on Liberty Avenue knew that, the same way they used to know that Brian Kinney didn’t do boyfriends. 

“He did,” Louis, one of his friends answered. “He comes back every now and then though.”

“They’re still together?”

“So I’ve heard.”

Well shit. 

Who would have thought that Brian I-despise-marriage Kinney would tie the knock with a twink he brought back home years ago?

Stan swallowed the rest of his drink in one go, pushing away the memories of getting fucked a few years ago in a dim-lit, expensive loft. Brian had refused to kiss him, be it before, during or after. He hadn’t be together with Justin then, Stan remembered that because as he got down on his knees that night, he thought that he could replace him. Sue him for thinking so; he was cute, young, intelligent, and apparently Brian did boyfriends now. Why not?

Maybe because the twink had showed up a couple of weeks later. He didn’t show up, exactly, he’d been at Babylon a few times after the breakup that went down in history on Liberty Avenue. Money had flown from hands to hands as the bets were lost on how long Brian and Justin would last. (Stan lost fifty dollars. Shouldn’t have bet on “less than a month”.)

But weeks later, as Stan was still a tad bitter about Brian’s harsh rejection (he’d never admit it, though. Him? Thinking he had a chance with Brian Kinney? Psssh, no, absolutely not.), here they were, the royal couple, making out on the dancefloor, Brian’s arms protectively wrapped around Justin. Did they know they looked like idiots in love, all smiley dovey and tender touches and fingers intertwined to lead one another to the backroom?

They probaby didn’t know. It was for the better, since Brian would have had a heart attack had he heard what was being said about him.

The ones having heart attacks (or nearing them, at least) were pretty much every guy in the club, as they stared at the Adonis dancing with his shirt open, sleeves roled up on his shoulders, a drink in his hand. The same hand that was sporting a goddamn wedding ring and why was Stan the only one openly freaking out? Why hadn’t everyone dropped dead on the floor?!

“It was bound to happen,” Louis commented.

“But he’s- he’s Brian Kinney for fuck’s sake!”

“Come on, let’s be happy him, he’s done with lying to himself. Happy days!”

“Yeah, right,” Stan rolled his eyes.

“You’re just butthurt because he wouldn’t even kiss you,” Louis laughed. “Get over it man. Come on, dance with me!”

Stan accepted the hand Louis was offering, because Louis was nice and a good dancer and his shirt fit in all the right places; but he wasn’t Brian. He’d do for the night though.

The few songs he danced to all sounded the same to him but it deliciously numbed his brain. Little shake of the hips, let the beat lead the way, waltz with the graphic lyrics. What made Babylon such an attractive place was the promise of freedom it held. It didn’t matter who you were, what was your name or your job or your relationship status, the only thing that mattered when you walked through those doors was how bad you wanted to get laid.

Oh how Stan wanted it.

Specifically, he wanted Brian. Brian, who was… Wait, where the fuck did he go?

“I’ll get us some drinks,” he said to Louis.

He scanned the crowd as he went through it to get to the bar. Not dancing, not seducing anyone, Brian was either in the back room enjoying himself or getting drunk, oh, what a surprise, at the bar Stan was about to order. Must have been fate.

“Two beers please,” he asked the barmaid as he leaned against the counter. Relaxed, unbothered. He’s cool. Brian wouldn’t remember him three years later, no way.

“Hi,” he said. No answer came.

“Nice ring you’ve got there,” he tried again, a little louder.

That got Brian to look at him. Perfect!

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t know you were married.”

“Yeah, it’s uhm-” Brian cleared his throat as if he was looking for his words. “It’s complicated.” 

He admired the wedding band on his ring finger, turning his hand around under the lights to get them to reflect on it.

“Does ‘complicated’ mean you’re done enjoying the back room?”

Didn’t straight people have a saying about how a woman who laughed was a woman halfway in your bed? Stan wished he could remember it but the last few shots of vodka Louis bought him blured his mind. He hoped it was true and worked both ways, because Brian had let out a laugh that Stan would have realized was more of a sneer, had he been sober.

“Smooth,” he smirks. “But ineffective. I’m not interested.”

And just like that, Brian lifted his drink in salute to Stan and went wandering in the hot crowd, leaving Stan alone at the bar, wishing he was butthurt in a completely different way.

 

 

“Do you still have the rings?” Justin’s voice cut the silence reigning in the loft. 

For all he knew, Brian could have been asleep already. A couple of rounds of well-deserved sex, trying to convey all of his I’ve-missed-you’s and I-love-you-so-fucking-much’s usually tired him enough to take a short nap, at least. Justin would usually close his eyes and snuggle closer to him, enjoy the tranquility of the loft, miles away from New York’s sleeplessness. As a teenager, he would have never thought he would one day miss Pittsburgh, but that was before meeting Brian and kissing him, fucking him, loving him. Brian who didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, who had turned into Brian insisting on paying the regular first class plane tickets from Pittsburgh to New York, from New York to Pittsburgh.

Brian who ran his hand along Justin’s sweaty back, played with his hair and let his hand rest there, his fingers tangled in the fine, blond hair before he answered.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “why?”

His voice didn’t quiver. He didn’t let any particular emotion show, just like he always did. They hadn’t discussed their almost-wedding since they had called it off; in fact, if it hadn’t been for that one time last week when some art critic had asked him if he was busy on Friday night and he had blurted out “Sorry, I’m married”, sending himself into a turmoil ,Justin could have sworn nothing had ever happened.

“Would it be weird if... huh, forget it, it’s stupid.”

“Keep going. If what?” Brian reached out to grab the pack of cigarette laying at the feet of the bed.

Justin let out a long sigh.

“It’s just that last week, some guy asked me out and he was pretty persistent about it so I told him I was married, but he asked where was the ring. Things got awkward, I think I can drop any hope of him writing a good article about me,” he admitted.

“So what, you want to wear your ring to verify your story?” Brian asked, a cigarette caught between his lips.

“It’d be useless, I’m never going to see this guy again anyway. I just thought that it’d be nice to have it, like a reminder of you when I’m in New York.”

Brian didn’t look at him right away. He lit the cigarette and admired it as he exhaled the smoke. Finally, his eyes met Justin’s, and he passed him the cigarette. Typical Brian, not talking about his feelings. Justin naively thought he was over that; the man had proposed to him for fuck’s sake!

Justin took a drag, too, because if he was going to deal with Brian in a mood, he was going to need it; except… Except the sound of a drawer closing distracted him from his musings and when he looked up, Brian was sitting back down on the bed, cross-legged in front of him, a small black velvet box in his hands.

“Give me your hand,” he said with a raspy voice.

Justin put down the cigarette in the ashtray they kept by the bed, frowning at Brian.

“What are you doing?” he asked, although he still hold out his left hand.

“If you want to wear your ring,” Brian opened the box and picked up the smallest band, “you’ll wear your ring.”

And in front of Justin’s wide eyes, he slipped the golden ring on his finger, holding up his hand, and if he didn’t say it, it was because he didn’t need to; Justin knew. The gesture was enough. The way Brian stared at the ring, then at Justin, was enough. Shit, the fact that Brian hadn’t silently freaked out and gone to shower to escape talking about their relationship, the relationship he refused to acknowledge at first, was enough.

“Are you going to wear yours?”

“Do you want me to wear it?” Brian looked genuinely curious, but he wasn’t fooling Justin. Five years of being in love with Brian fucking Kinney taught him a few things.

He’s dying to wear his.

“Only if you want to.”

Justin grabbed the velvet box then, getting Brian’s ring out. The golden band slipped easily on his finger; instead of the dead weight of responsability Brian expected it to be, the cool metal felt like the final missing piece of a puzzle they had been building the last five years.

“You may kiss the groom,” Brian whispered with a smirk, leaning towards Justin. 

They kissed slowly, gently, a chaste, simple press of the lips like they rarely did, smiling against each other’s mouth.

“It doesn’t bother you that we’re not actually married, right?” Justin asked, his hand caressing Brian’s cheek.

“No. We don’t need a couple of signature of a piece of paper to be married.”

At that, Justin raised an eyebrow. Brian retrieved the cigarette from the ashtray and lit it, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“We don’t?”

Justin dragged himself to sit next to him.

“Let’s review, shall we?” Brian exhaled the smoke. “For better and for worth, check. For richer and for poorer, check. Health and sickness, check. We’ve got the commitment, the arrangement, the everything. Face it,” he looked up to Justin at last, “we’re married.”

“That’s surprisingly romantic coming from you,” Justin commented, stealing the cigarette from Brian’s fingers.

“Yeah, well. Look at what you’ve done to me.” Although he sounded resigned, his eyes shone with love. “Alright, I’m done with the sentimental shit, what time is it?.”

Justin sneered at him. He would never change, but that was a comfort. Whenever life got busy and the ground under his feet was quaking with the possibility of his art career not picking up, Brian’s familiar snide remarks on life were only a phone call away.

“Almost five AM.”

“Mmh, bed time,” Brian hummed, letting himself fall on his back against the mattress.

Justin joined him with a smile, snuggling into his side.

“We should fuck to celebrate.”

“Yes please,” Justin murmured in Brian’s ear, before he turned around and lifted his ass in the air, wiggling it with a giggle.

The first rays of sunshine barely hit the large windows of the loft, bathing the place in the morning light when they fell asleep together later, fingers intertwined.


End file.
